Blue Rose
by xxxDawngirl
Summary: Blue roses signify a miracle. Drabbles about the different endings of Ib. T for angst.


_Disclaimer: I don't own the game Ib. _

"_Do you know what blue roses stand for?" The little girl shook her head. The purple-haired man gave an encouraging smile. "They stand for hope; miracles when all seems lost."_

_**Ib All Alone (fake Mother version)**_

"Come on, Ib!"Garry cried out. He was looking into some sort of room: a spacious, rectangular, gloomily-colored room which seemed far too empty except for a girl. It was strange, because when he blinked, he seemed to be staring at a long painting. But when he focused, he saw the room again, and the girl with brown hair that fell straight down her back. "Ib, what are you waiting for?"Garry shouted again, anxiety in his tone. He felt very worried for the girl, "Ib", which was strange, because he didn't know her at all. The girl, Ib, seemed to be talking to someone Garry couldn't see. Then with one last glance at Garry, Ib whispered softly, "I'll be fine now, Garry. My mother will bring me home."

Garry felt despair and agony tear through his mind as he screamed out Ib's name again and again. Somehow, he knew that the girl was lost forever.

Garry woke up with a start. Standing beside the bed was his fiancé, Mary. With her hands on her hips, yellow hair cascading down her shoulders, she chided, "Garry! It's time you woke up already!" Frowning, Garry rose from his bed, managing to flash Mary a disturbed smile. Still trying to shake off the strange dream, he walked out of the door.

Mary remained in the room, facing the closed door, with a strange expression on her face. She closed her eyes. It had been many years since the art gallery. _It's all over, Gary will never find out_, Mary reassured herself. Reopening her eyes, Mary smiled a truly chilling smile. It was the smile of someone who had won against the odds, and it bordered on insanity_._

The door opened as Garry reentered. "Mary…?"

_**Forgotten Portrait **_

Ib was shaking.

Clutching tightly on to her red rose, and the remains of Garry's blue rose's stalk, Ib stood in front of the long, rectangular framed painting. Slowly, breathing hard, trying not to cry, she put her hand to the plate which stated the painting's name.

As soon as she did, the room filled with white light. When Ib could finally open her eyes again, the frame was gone. On impulse, Ib put her hand on the painting. Her hand moved through the canvas and she felt cold air on the other side. Tip-toeing, she set her ear against the painting.

Ib concentrated. Slowly, she started to hear faint and soft whispers. They sounded far away, like the voices' owners were a world away. They probably were.

Hope flared in Ib. For the first time since Garry had died, Ib felt a sense of pure happiness. Along with it came a flood of guilt. She looked to the stalk of the blue rose. Once, it had been full of life, beautiful blue petals adorning the stalk. Now, like its owner, it was gone. Without petals, the stalk seemed scary instead of beautiful: the thorns were now an unveiled threat. Without the petals that represented life, the stalk was just another item among the many others of Guertena's world. Ib took one last glance at it, as if sucking all her precious memories of Garry from it and into her mind, and let it go.

Taking a deep breath, Ib prepared herself to climb into the painting. Suddenly, the sound of shoes on the marble floor alerted Ib's ears. The sound rang eerily loud in the cold and empty room. Ib turned around warily.

And there… there was Garry. Purple hair, ragtag clothing… But Ib's initial surge of joy was replaced by wariness. There was something wrong with his eyes: the way they stared at her, and the dark look in them. And the way his mouth was shaped in an expression of joyless mirth.

Ib shrank back. The man who was Garry-but _wasn't_ him-called out to Ib. "What's wrong, Ib?"He asked. Ib shook her head frantically; there was something wrong with his tone, too. He was trying to sound hurt and anxious, but it came out twisted and taunting instead.

Glancing between the painting and the man, Ib stood rooted to the ground, helpless and unable to decide. For a moment there was no movement. Then the man looked at the ground, and saw the fallen stalk of the rose.

The man's expression changed to something like outrage. It scared Ib more than anything to see her friend's face-or that face that looked like her friend's-contort and twist into something dark and angry and evil.

Ib had made up her mind. That monster was definitely not Garry, who had really died back in the sketchbook. The thought brought tears to Ib's mind, but she forced them not to roll down her cheeks fiercely. Before the monster could reach her, Ib pulled herself into the painting.

…..

Ib stood in front of a painting.

The painting was long and rectangular, and it was made up of wild, seemingly random strokes of paint. They made no sense to Ib. It was called abstract art, Ib decided. It was a term her mother had taught since they'd entered the art gallery.

Ib started. Where _was_ her mother? What was she doing, dawdling in front of a painting that held no particular attraction to her? Ib glanced around. No one was around in this particular corridor, and the painting she was looking at was the only one in it. Looking back at the painting, Ib felt an inexplicable shiver.

Turning around, Ib fled the corridor. She never tried, so she didn't know that she could never find it again.

As soon as she stepped into another corridor, she saw other people. Ib felt a deep sense of relief. She suddenly remembered that her mother had told her that she would meet her back at the receptionist's desk. Ib set off for it.

Ib sensed it before she saw it.

A beautiful painting of a man holding a rose. A blue rose. The man's lips were set in a peaceful line, but something told Ib that the man was nothing but peaceful. It was disconcerting. Ib was too young to properly understand or describe it, but the feeling she felt when she looked at the portrait was wretched, sad and helpless.

It was as if the man, caught so beautifully and tragically, was sinking into a dark, blue ocean of a world locked away forever beyond anyone's reach. And his lips fought to open, to move and shape words that could perhaps tear away the invisible strands that held him down, slowly dragging him into a watery grave, a sealed tomb where he would lie forever, asleep, quiet, and forgotten. _Please don't forget me,_ Ib thought he was trying to say. Then the moment was gone, and Ib could only see a beautiful portrait of a man forgotten by the mortal world.

Ib put her face in her hands and cried without even knowing why.

_**Memories' Crannies**_

Ib walked down the hallway and was about to turn the corner when she saw an eye-catching sculpture. It was a sculpture of a beautiful red rose. Someone was standing in front of it. As Ib walked closer, she saw that it was a young man with rather messy purple hair.

The two exchanged a few words and made polite conversation. Ib found that she had a surprisingly good impression of the man, which was rare due to her quiet nature and her usual tendency to keep to herself. However, the man left all too soon without any indication that he would remember her. In fact, judging from the quality of the young man's clothes, they most likely belonged from different classes in society. They probably would not see each other again.

Ib's mother's cheerful voice broke into Ib's thoughts. "There you are, Ib!"She exclaimed. Smiling, she led Ib away from the sculpture and to other exhibits.

There were times afterwards that the two would think of each other, but those times were rare and fleeting moments, fading quickly with a small, quiet smile. And in that world, their relationship was limited to thus.

_**Together, forever**_

"Ib!"Mary greeted Ib happily, jumping forward to grab her hands eagerly. Ib felt a strange sense of confusion, before she remembered that of course, she had a sister called Mary. How could she forget such a fact? Ib returned a small, reserved smile, still unsure of her own emotions. Then Mary saw what she was holding. "Hmm? Is that a sweet, Ib? Could I have it?"Without even waiting for a reply, Mary pried the sweet from Ib's hand.

Suddenly, a sharp sense of hate swarmed Ib, stronger than any other negative emotion Ib had ever felt. She was about to snatch the sweet back…

…But Mary had already popped it into her mouth.

"Mmm… It's delicious, Ib! Wherever did you get it?"Mary asked curiously, completely oblivious to her sister's anger.

The question confused Ib. Yes… Where _had _she gotten that sweet from? Flashes of colors threatened to swarm Ib's head. Suddenly, her anger was gone and in it's place was a deep, cold, yawning pit of fear. What was happening to her? Why couldn't she remember?

"Ib? Ib? Are you okay? Are you angry? I'm sorry, Ib!"Ib could vaguely hear Mary asking anxiously. With some effort, Ib calmed herself and gave what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "I'm fine… Just…"She looked around for an accurate word. "Tired?"Her father suggested. Ib nodded. _That must be it,_ she thought to herself. _I'm just tired._

Ib left the gallery feeling very disconcerted and disturbed.

_**Promise of Reunion**_

Six years later.

Garry leaned against the pole, fidgeting in anxiety. Where was she? The meeting had been arranged a week ago. Had Ib forgotten about it? Or did she have more important matters to attend to than meeting a poor young man who she had not seen for nearly two years? Looking around agitatedly, Garry reread Ib's letter.

_Dear Garry,_

_I hope you are well! It has been so long. I am currently studying at the University, very near where you reside! Do you perhaps want to meet up and talk for a while? If you're fine with it, we could meet up near that beautiful shop I told you about in my previous letter. Next Thursday, around twelve o clock?_

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Ib_

The letter was written in beautiful cursive, and the paper was an expensive sort. Garry had replied, agreeing to her location and timing. But now it was already near twelve fifteen. What had gone wrong?

Just then, a hand touched Garry's arm and that familiar, child-like voice called out, "Garry!"

Garry turned, and saw Ib.

She was dressed in a beautiful, long dress which reached just above her ankles. The fabric was silk, Garry was sure. The design was simple, with no elaborate patterns. A red rose adorned it, just below her right shoulder. Ib was smiling brightly, innocently.

Garry felt himself returning that smile as he bowed dramatically. "My lady," He said said in the most silky voice he could manage. His low voice made Ib's heart leap faster.

"Sorry I was late,"Ib said, slightly flustered. "I had classes."

"It's fine."Garry said earnestly, meaning it. "It's all fine, now that you're here."He added, before a blush spread across his face. Ib felt color rise to her cheeks, but she pushed the peculiar feeling she felt down and linked her arm through his. "Come on, let's go to that place I told you about…"

And in that life, their relationship continued to progress.

_**~End~**_


End file.
